


A spindle-legged stork

by oddishly



Series: seasons [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: Arthur had never met a tournament in his life that he’d walked away from.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: seasons [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1299026
Comments: 9
Kudos: 79





	A spindle-legged stork

**Author's Note:**

> Season 3 is by far the one I find hardest to get a handle on. I am avoiding writing something much longer, so of course this season suddenly got a lot easier.

Arthur, Merlin, and a gaggle of knights were some days into a two-week mission to spy on the lands of a cruel and unfriendly northern queen when they received some bad news. 

“A tournament,” Leon confirmed, shucking his entertainer's disguise. “In the citadel, two days from now.”

“Really,” said Arthur, eyes gleaming. “It’s on our route, you say?”

Arthur had never met a tournament in his life that he’d walked away from. Merlin sighed as Leon outlined the details. It was an archery tournament, and the winner would earn a pot of gold and the kiss of a princess of his choosing. The queen had many daughters.

Arthur said with a bright expression and overly concerned tone, “How unfortunate we didn’t hear about this earlier. It’ll look suspicious if we change our route, no entertainer in their right mind would veer away from an event like this. It’s too late to avoid the tournament now.”

“Of course,” said Merlin. “That would be the sensible— _ow_. Foolish, I mean, the foolish thing to do.” He rubbed the sore spot on his head and glared at Arthur. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on a chance to show off your archery prowess to a city full of people you’re never going to see again. Sire.”

“Glad you agree, Merlin,” said Arthur, clapping him hard on the back, and that was how Merlin found himself making up a bed on the sheepskin next to Arthur’s bed in an inn two days later. 

He punched the pillow he’d stolen before Arthur noticed and said, “Be a bit embarrassing if you lost to Gwaine or Percival, wouldn’t it.”

“Gwaine’s been having problems with his bow,” said Arthur, improperly satisfied for a prince of Camelot at the thought of a knight’s disadvantage, then ruined it by continuing, “so losing to me in front of the ladies of this magnificent town might inspire him to finally fix it. And Percival needs the practice.”

The fire crackled merrily at Merlin’s feet as he thought about this. “Really? Because—” 

“As do all of the knights,” interrupted Arthur firmly. “Myself included. Daily practice. I can imagine no better circumstance.”

Merlin thought about Percival and the rest of the knights in the room next door, the one without a fireplace or anything even resembling a bed. Something else occurred to him. “Aren’t you worried about people recognising you?”

“Why would I be worried about that?”

“You’re not supposed to set foot in these lands, for one,” said Merlin. “And for another—isn’t it a bit unfair? You learnt to shoot a bow before you learnt to read. This is a local tournament.”

“You misunderstand me, Merlin,” said Arthur. “I meant, why would I be worried that anyone would recognise me?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “All the time you spend in front of your mirror and you still don’t know what you look like?”

“Very attractive, very recognisable,” said Arthur, and Merlin couldn’t see any part of Arthur’s face but he would put money on that insufferable smirk sitting comfortably on his mouth. “But no one will be expecting me, and anyway, I’ll be in disguise.”

Merlin wiggled his toes at the fire. “I’m not putting charcoal in your hair again. Don’t you remember how long that took to get out last time?”

“Days on interminable days,” said Arthur darkly. “No. I’m going to wear your clothes. No one will mistake me for a prince then. No offense, Merlin.”

Merlin spluttered. “And what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, of course.”

“Oh,” said Merlin. He thought about staying silent all day to disguise his extremely not right for these clothes manner of speaking, and shut his eyes against a wave of resentment. “Yes, my lord.”

The bed springs grumbled. Merlin opened his eyes to find Arthur peering over the edge of the bed at him. “Yes, my lord?”

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it when I beat all the competition?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “It reflects well on you, too.” 

“Of course it does,” said Merlin. He shifted onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “And I’m sure I’ll get to reap the benefits of being your lord, after you win.” He bit his tongue before it could go as far as his mind.

The light from the flames flickered. Merlin carefully avoided looking back at Arthur again, because really, he did want Arthur to win even though he didn’t want to tell him that. Merlin was spending a lot of time recently hiding his thoughts and it was getting tiresome.

A log fell, sending sparks flying. Merlin looked and let the orange and gold disguise a silent word to make the log burn hotter.

He was on the verge of sleep when Arthur spoke up again, much too clearly for someone who tonight needed his rest even more than Merlin did. “Tell you what, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I’ll win the tournament for you, how about that.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Merlin, a very long moment later.


End file.
